


(choke this love) til' the veins start to shiver

by Kamiizumi



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bar/Club Scenes, Bottom Han Jisung | Han, Confessions, Drunk Sex, Emotional Rollercoaster, Exes, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Reunions, Top Lee Minho | Lee Know, maybe like some other ships if you squint hard enough and tilt your head, minsung - Freeform, minsungbingo, she's a bit loaded so forgive me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23220184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamiizumi/pseuds/Kamiizumi
Summary: He missed the taste of Jisung’s lips. Even now, their mouths crushed together, teeth clacking, the taste of whiskey fresh on each of their tongues; it was everything that Minho missed most in his sad, lonely world. He just wanted to Jisung to shut up, to stop talking, because he knew that while his words weren’t sticks and stones, that didn’t make them any less painful.And the saddest thing, Minho quickly realized, was that Jisung missed this just as much as he did.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 16
Kudos: 296
Collections: MINSUNG BINGO: Round One





	(choke this love) til' the veins start to shiver

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHHHH okay this is my first fill for minsung trope bingo on twt (@minsungbingo) and i'm kinda excited but at the same time really scared LMAO it's a low pressure event but i'm already feeling insecure uploading this amongst everyone else's works ;;;;; but please do enjoy this overblown fiasco of emotions and be sure to check out everyone else's works in the minsung trope bingo ao3 collection!
> 
> prompts: confessions (love, or otherwise) | bar/club scenes | exes | top lee know/bottom han

He already knew that no one would be waiting for him at the gate when he got off the plane, but it didn’t hurt any less when Minho walked past the arrival doors and stood there dumbfounded, as if anyone was actually going to start blowing up his phone. It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did to enter his new apartment, sparsely furnished and smelling too much like freshly set wood, and to see it empty and not be surprised by the people he once considered close friends. Not that Minho would ever blame them, because it was his fault that they either shunned him or altogether just stopped talking to him. Because there wasn’t much to be said. Because there were things said that just couldn’t be taken back.

Minho turns on the lights and looks around, noting how much nicer it was than his old apartment, but still finding it so alien and unwelcome. His suitcases were heavy, and there were too many boxes littered around the room, but maybe he just wanted to lay down and sleep the rest of the evening away instead of unpacking everything. Intrusive thoughts came bubbling up to the surface as he walked out into the living room and laid eyes on the Seoul skyline for the first time in a year.

_“…I think we should break up.”_

_Jisung looked up from his laptop with a skewed smile on his lips and removed his hefty headphones. “Sorry, I thought I heard you wrong. Noise-canceling, y’know? Wha-what did you say?”_

_Minho swallowed thickly and looked out the window, trying to focus on the sunlit roofs adorning the Seoul skyline. “I’m breaking up with you.”_

_The smile on Jisung’s had fallen straight into a frown, and he was shaking his head at him in disbelief. “This isn’t funny, Minho. This isn’t…this isn’t fucking funny.”_

_Minho returned his gaze from the window, but now focused on the ring on his thumb, twisting it mindlessly amid their silence. “…I was thinking of flying to the US to pursue dancing. Take up that opportunity to attend the dance intensive. Get somewhere with that afterward. You…you’re still making music with Chan and Changbin, right?” He swiped his tongue over his lips, and only realizing then how dry his mouth had been. “You and I…I don’t think we’d survive the distance. So, let’s break up now, while we still like each other.”_

_A shiny glaze had covered Jisung’s eyes, and his lip quivered before he bit down on it._

_The older boy tore his gaze away from his hand and once against stared out at the skyline. “Let’s just be friends,” he murmured._

_“…What did I do? Did I do something wrong?” Jisung’s voice cracked, and he momentarily covered his gasp as a tear dropped from his eyes. “Tell me, please? Can we talk about this?”_

_Minho steeled himself, his eyes also glazing over as he continued to squint at the distant rooftops past the window pane. His hands clasped at the fabric of his jacket, if only to keep his nails from digging into his palms. He was lying. He hated lying. He hated doing this. “…I want to go places, Jisung. I don’t think you understand what it means to me to be able to go out there and do the things that I want.”_

_“Are you seriously hearing yourself right now? You’re telling me that I – me – don’t have any idea what it means to put in hard work and be recognized for it? Are you fucking serious…?!” Jisung scoffed and looked down at his lap, his knuckles whitening as he pressed his fists into his thighs. His eyes were wet, and it was getting hard keeping them open for this long. A single teardrop hit the fabric of his jeans._

_“Jisung, I’m not going to ask you to leave behind Chan and Changbin – “_

_“Then why are you being an asshole right now?” His voice was cracking, and it was getting difficult understanding him when he was sobbing like this. “Why are we giving up before it’s even happened? Just tell me the truth…!”_

_“B-Because I want to get serious about this and this relationship will only get in the way,” Minho sputtered, his voice hushed but venomous. The older boy’s voice almost wavered, but he held tight, biting down on his lip._

_Jisung choked as his lips curled into a snarl. “…So you think I’m holding you back. Me, who’s always pushed you to reach your goals because I was just as passionate about my own. You selfishly decided that there was no place for me in your dreams, even if I already included you in mine.” His chest heaved as he shut his eyes, foolishly trying to keep his tears at bay. He hastily packed away his laptop as Minho only stared down at his feet. “…You know, maybe it would have been easier if you just said you hated me. So I didn’t have to sit here listening to your bullshit. You’ve always been pretty mean…but this really takes the fucking cake.”_

_Minho didn’t look at him as he picked up his belongings and marched out of the room, with the front door slamming just a few seconds afterward._

Of course, that incident had happened over a year ago, and was also the last conversation that Minho ever had with his ex-boyfriend before leaving for the States. In the days leading up to his grand move, he had gotten calls and texts from some of the more…vocal members of their friend group.

Seungmin was clinical, telling him off the way a stern mother would for the benefit of their child. Hyunjin’s disappointment and disbelief was palpable in the way he spoke over the phone, his voice lilted with the implication that he had also been crying with Jisung, perhaps out of anger and bitterness. Changbin never called him, but his response came in the form of a flowery but concise message. The younger boy was quick to denounce their friendship, not only because of how he broke Jisung’s heart, but Minho’s insinuation that their musicmaking dreams were just that – dreams.

He expected the worst from Chan, one of his elders and the final piece of the musical trio between Jisung and Changbin, but he knew the elder could see right through him. Chan only expressed his disappointment in him, and that he was lucky it was him speaking and not Woojin. Chan was the only one that wished him well on his endeavors.

The gravity of the situation hadn’t sunk in until the second night of his stay in the United States, when the jet lag kept him up and he was left to fend for himself against the thoughts he’d buried so deep in the back of his mind. As much as he wanted to talk with his friends back home again, it felt…far too alien trying to be simple with them when he knew that his words had too much weight.

With too many tear-stained bedsheets and no one to confide in, Minho sucked it up and got to work. Because that’s what Jisung would have wanted for him.

Minho realized he’d been sitting in the dark of his living room for an hour now, things still unpacked, and boxes still littered all over. The hardwood floors, illuminated only by moonlight, reminded him of the weathered studio floors he’d danced for endless hours on. The distant echoes of repeated counts and footsteps in sync haunted his ears. Glumly, he stood up and marched to the bathroom, the path to which he only faintly remembered from the virtual tour of the apartment he’d seen months prior to purchasing the place.

After feeling the wall for a few seconds just to find the light switch and getting blinded in the process, he took a good look at himself in the mirror. The dance scene in the States was far more aggressive, more frenetic, and more taxing than it had been when he began dancing here in Seoul. He lost much of his baby fat and gained muscle tone in exchange. Even the few friends he’d made convinced him to switch up his aesthetic, trading his simple stud earrings and choppy black locks for dangling silver and sleek lavender.

If only Jisung and the others could see him now.

If only they had a reason to even think about each other again. _I lied_ , Minho thought, inspecting the dark circles around his eyes after that long, grueling flight. _It was all a lie. Because I’m stupid._

The reason haunts him, keeps him awake on some nights, the most crucial of his mistakes that led him to throw away what grounded him in exchange for what made him feel like flying.

_I still love you, Han Jisung. Always have and always will. And that’s why I wanted to end it._

Minho gasped for air as he turned off the sink faucet. He braced himself against the counter while water droplets fell from his rapidly cooling skin.

_I knew you would have wanted me to fly abroad, to dance with the greats because that’s what I always dreamed of. But I knew that I could never handle being away from you, much less everyone else. And I knew that’s where we would have gone wrong._

A rosy sheen returned to his pallid face but being home for the first time in forever just made him feel sick.

Minho shuddered and trembled. He took one last look in the mirror and adjusted his sweater, before striding out of the bathroom.

_I need a fucking drink._

* * *

“Keep it pouring, hyung, because we’re gonna get _majorly_ fucked up tonight!”

The table erupted with laughter, even with Woojin shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Ah, you crazy kids these days…”

“Aish, Woojin, stop it. This is as much as a celebration for all of us than it is for me, Changbin, and Jisung.” Chan punctuated his sentence with a wide toothy grin before picking up his shot glass and raising it in the air. “To us – _all of us_ – and most importantly, 3RACHA.”

Jisung and Changbin matched his grins and raised their glasses in the air. Hyunjin and Felix followed suit with their own matching glasses, while Seungmin and Jeongin modestly held up their drinks.

“You two sure you don’t want to get anything alcoholic?” Felix asked, turning to them before downing his shot. Seungmin and Jeongin both shook their heads in unison.

“Everything’s alright over here,” the elder of the two responded. Jeongin grinned and swished the bright red punch in his glass.

“Aight then…for 3RACHA!” Felix yelled as Jisung matched his exclamation. Changbin looked between the two with a challenging look in his eyes before stretching his shot glass towards Woojin.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t leave me behind too… Hyung, pour me one, yeah?”

“Alright, alright, let’s take it easy now. We have all night to get drunk,” the elder replied, chuckling to himself as he reached for the bottle again.

A quirked, warm smile was stretched across Chan’s face as he surveyed the table. Between Hyunjin teasing Seungmin about his distaste for alcohol, Jeongin eagerly listening in, and Changbin, Felix, and Jisung arguing over who can drink the most, the night was already starting to liven up.

He felt something gently nudging him in the side and turned to see Woojin giving him a raised eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be making a speech, oh Mr. Producer Extraordinaire?”

Warmth spread across Chan’s cheeks as he shrugged playfully. “Fine, fine, I will.” The others finished their banter and redirected their attention to him. Chan’s curly locks shook ever so slightly as he clapped his hands together. “So. We are gathered here today to celebrate the fruits of hard labor that me, Jisung, and Changbin toiled over. It only took a couple of trashed songbooks, shitty meme demos, and multiple Soundcloud mixtapes but…3RACHA is _finally_ signed to their own record label.”

The table erupted in cheers once again, and glasses clinked amongst one another in revelry.

“I’m just…very happy to be sharing this milestone with all of you guys, and I’m sure Jisung and Changbin would say the same.” Chan turned his gaze toward the two, a proud and warm smile adorning his features.

“Ah, hyung, no need to be so sappy…” Jisung replied while feigning tears, before instantly perking up.

“Hey, this is pretty important, though,” Changbin interjected, smirking at the younger boy and playfully jabbing him in the arm. “This year was…God…a complete struggle, to be blunt. A shitton of rejected demos, too many trashed songs, _finally_ completing a mixtape. I guess there was some benefit to Jisung pumping out lyrics like no tomorrow.”

“Well, there was a reason as to why I – “ And then Jisung stopped himself, mentally rebooting and taking a moment to regain his composure. “Anyway, this night is for us and for celebration, and I swear to God, if half of us aren’t completely wasted by the end of the night then something is definitely wrong.”

“Amen to that,” Hyunjin replied, before sipping his drink.

Chan noticed Jisung’s slight falter but smiled knowing he recovered from it well. There was only one reason why Jisung had stayed up night after night for months writing lyrics.

“Chan hyung?”

The young man blinked and looked in the direction of the small voice. Jeongin was quietly sipping his drink before directing his eyes towards the elder boy.

“What is it, Innie?”

Jeongin momentarily looked over at the others before scooting closer to Chan. “…I know it’s your guys’ happy moment, but…” The younger boy quirked his mouth and shrugged. “It’s just not _complete_ , if you know what I’m saying. Sorry.”

Chan returned his sad smile and patted him on the shoulder. “No, you don’t have to apologize, especially on a night like this. But, I know what you mean.” The elder looked back over the rest of them huddled around the table, eagerly tossing snacks around and pouring each other drinks. Jisung had never been happier in such a long time, but even Chan knew there was something missing here. “You boys sit tight; I’ll go look for the server and get us some more drinks, yeah?”

The bar was lively this evening; some sports relays were flashing over the widescreen TVs adorning the walls, and a thumping beat was blaring over the speakers. After wandering for some time around the dancefloor and through aisles and booths with other bar patrons, Chan finally gave up and headed to the bartender directly to grab the drinks. A cleanly pressed man was wiping down glasses when he approached the counter, right in front of a young man in a sweater that reminded him of koi carp.

“Excuse me, I’d like another bottle of whiskey for table 12. And maybe two more of those virgin strawberry daiquiris?”

“Coming right up, sir.”

“Thanks!” Chan decided to sit tight on the barstool as he waited for their drinks. He once again looked at the young man in the koi carp sweater, currently nursing a glass with whiskey in it as well. Chan blinked once, twice, and then his eyes widened.

“…Minho?”

The young man twitched, the lavender locks on his head shifting slightly out of position, before he looked up at Chan.

“Oh my God… Minho. Wow.”

“Chan…” Minho blinked at him a few times, his body frozen in the inability to properly react, but soon enough the older boy was pulling him into a firm embrace. Minho inhaled deeply before returning the action.

“Man…I haven’t seen you in a while. It’s been what? A year?” Chan immediately pressed him for answers, his voice hushed in a sense of mild disbelief and chief surprise. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Minho struggled to put together his emotions, with his lips quivering nervously as he tried to make eye contact with Chan. “Y-Yeah, I… I actually just landed in Incheon earlier. Moved back home. Been too long.”

“Wow…and like…you really changed,” Chan chuckled and nodded at his piercings and dyed hair. “If the others see you…”

Minho flinched upon hearing those words, instantly drawing his gaze to the floor between his boots. “Uh…yeah…the others. How are they?”

“They’re doing alright. They’re all here, actually, funny enough.” Chan laughed lightly once again, but they both knew it was out of pity. “…Listen. You probably have your own reasons for being here, and tonight’s a really good night for…Jisung. We…we just got accepted into a record label, and we’re gearing up for our official release on streaming websites…”

“Congrats,” Minho replied, though he wanted to smack himself for sounding so half-hearted.

Chan let out a defeated sigh and slumped his shoulders before looking back at Minho. “As a friend to both you and Jisung… I’m not asking you to leave this place, but…maybe you should steer clear of each other tonight. If you didn’t have any intentions of talking to him, or the others, at the very least.”

The younger boy nodded and licked at his dry lips. “You can count on me this time.”

Chan looked over just as the bartender loaded a tray with their drinks and handed it to a server. “Thanks, Minho. I’ll see you around.” He clapped Minho firmly on the shoulder before turning and leaving.

Minho inhaled sharply and shut his eyes; Jisung was here. And so were the others. And while he knew he had no intention of talking to them – mostly because they wouldn’t want to – this was already starting to feel like a recipe for disaster. A churning feeling arose in his core, and he quickly downed the rest of his whiskey in an effort to try and settle it.

“Another one. Please.”

* * *

“Ah, there you are. Thought I was going to die when you left me with the children,” Woojin commented as Chan returned.

“Shut up, dude,” he replied with a chuckle before sidling in beside him. “Looks like the drinks got here before I did.”

“More or less. Are we ready for another toast?” Changbin smirked as he reached for the whiskey bottle and uncapping it.

Hyunjin grimaced but shook it off and extended his glass. “Mom didn’t raise a quitter.” Seungmin scoffed at him and sipped his daiquiri with a snicker. “What?”

“Aw, don’t start fighting _now_ ,” Jisung quipped, extending his glass as well. “Besides…” The young man raised his eyes towards the crowd of people, looking straight at an orange-clad fellow sitting at the bar. His jaw instantly locked and his blood ran cold. “…Changbin, pour me a shot,” Jisung muttered.

“What? You’re gonna have to speak louder – “

“ _I said pour me a fucking shot_.” Jisung swallowed the growing lump in his throat and looked away. “…Sorry.”

The table went silent, and Chan immediately turned to look in the direction of the bar. Just beyond the floor with the crowd of writhing bodies, there he was: Minho, in his orange-tinged sweater, swirling the whiskey in his left hand and idly scrolling through his phone in his right.

“Yeesh, what’s eating you up all of a sudden…?” Changbin wrinkled his nose and poured him his shot.

Seungmin narrowed his eyes at both Jisung and Chan before following the elder’s eyes across the room. He raised an eyebrow before turning back to Jisung. “…Hey, are you okay?”

“Why’s everyone suddenly being weird?” Felix asked as he leaned in toward Jisung.

“I’m _fine_. Let’s just continue drinking,” Jisung interjected, before downing the shot Changbin poured for him. The liquid burned his throat, but it was better than the bile amassing in his chest. “Give me another one.”

Changbin looked at him sternly. “Alright, alright, save some for the rest of us.”

Hyunjin ignored the rest of them and turned to Seungmin. “…What’s going on?”

Before Seungmin could answer him, Woojin perked up. “It’s nothing Hyunjin. Don’t push it.” Hyunjin snarled as if he was about to snap, knowing something was wrong with Jisung, but he wouldn’t dare cross the older boy. Woojin leaned closer to Chan and whispered in his ear. “…Go take Jisung to the side. Make sure he’s okay.”

Chan sighed and nodded. “Keep them busy.”

Jisung was quietly adapting to his third shot of the evening before Chan gently coaxed him away from the table, just a few steps away from earshot. Thanks to some quick thinking between Woojin and Jeongin, the table was again erupting in laughter. But the look on both Jisung and Chan’s face was anything but pleasant.

“…Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Chan asked with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“So you know he’s…?” Jisung’s voice is timid, nothing at all like the excited energy at the very beginning of the night.

“I ran into him at the bar earlier,” the older male confessed, his voice suddenly sounding tired. “Look, if you want to go somewhere else, that’s totally fine; I’m sure everyone would understand – “

“No! …No. I.” Jisung closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “I’m okay. This is not just _my_ night, Chan, this is _our_ night. And I’m not gonna let some self-absorbed, heartless, _prick_ – “

“ _Jisung_.”

“I know, I _know_ …! I’m okay. I’m gonna be okay, I promise.”

The corners of Chan’s lips tilted upwards as he squeezed Jisung’s shoulder once again. “C’mon. There’s a lot of booze to finish.”

* * *

He hated himself for it. For letting his eyes always wander back to that same spot at the bar. Even if he’d never seen that expensive looking sweater before, or the new mop of silvery violet sitting on his head, Jisung knew the jawline he’d spent many days planting kisses on, or that nose that he remembered digging into his neck when he’d done the same.

An hour and a half later, Jisung was seven shots and at least half a bottle of soju in and yet the world was still too steady underneath his feet. The flashing lights weren’t any blurrier than they had been when they all entered the room. The only thing that invaded his mind were images of _him_. Stupid, annoying, frustrating, unbelievable. Lee Minho.

Jisung shouldn’t be looking at him, shouldn’t be paying him any attention. It wasn’t like Minho was actively waving him down across the room…in fact, he was sitting there, downing whiskey after whiskey and absentmindedly scrolling down his phone even when the room seemed to pulse around them.

_I want to go over there and dump my drink on your sweater._

The dark liquid sitting in his glass was starting to taste like water, and Jisung wondered how much more he needed to completely drown his senses.

_Why are you even here? No one wants you here._

A girl came and sat down next to Minho. She was obviously there for a great time, just judging from her bright red ensemble and the silky black hair cascading down her back.

_Good. Let him ruin someone else’s life._

It was after the third time Minho smiled at whatever the person said that Jisung promptly stood from the table and marched on over.

The table went quiet as he walked around, a fire burning in his eyes and his skin overtly warm to the touch. Changbin and Hyunjin exchanged looks before finally seeing the reason for his ire.

“Jisung, let us help you with that…” “Yeah, wait for us – “

Chan stood from the table and barricaded the two. “No.”

“Chan, move out of the way. I haven’t left that asshole a black eye,” Changbin growled.

“I said _no_. There’s no reason for us to intervene…yet.” He cautiously looked over his shoulder at Jisung, who was weaving in and out of the crowd towards the bar.

“Jisung’s just going to get himself hurt again!” Hyunjin retorted, wanting to push beyond Chan’s reach.

Woojin stood from his seat and stepped up to Chan’s side. “Hey, _calm down_. There’s no need for any of you to get crazy. I don’t care how wasted some of you are, we’re _not_ doing this here.” He gave both Changbin and Hyunjin a stern eye, before gently coaxing them back to their seats.

Seungmin kept Felix anchored to his chair, with Felix openly glaring across the room. Seungmin watched Jisung carefully, before sighing and turning his head away. Jeongin stayed quiet on his side of the table, keeping a close eye on the both of them down by the bar.

Chan shook his head. “This…this isn’t our fight. I trust you’ll all know if we need to intervene.” He sighed deeply and closed his eyes.

_Jisung. Minho. Please work this out._

* * *

“I’m sorry I had to use you to get back at my ex.” Soojin laughed apologetically and flipped her hair behind her.

“No harm done,” Minho murmured in response, a thin smile stretched across his face. This seemed a little silly to him, considering his own ex was somewhere in the same room, but he had no intention of getting back with him anytime soon.

Soojin looked back out over the crowd and smirked to herself. “One last thing before I go, if you don’t mind?”

“Go for it,” he responded nonchalantly.

She leaned in close and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. “…My turn to dip. My ex is looking pretty peeved right now,” she said in a hushed tone. The feeling sent a bit of a tingle down Minho’s spine; no one had done anything intimate like that to him in a while. He opened his eyes to see a _very_ angry Han Jisung walking straight towards him. Soojin snickered and peeled herself away. “Looks like my job is done as well. See you around.”

“I…wait…!”

Before Minho could say anything else, the Han Jisung himself was staggering in front of him, bracing himself against the counter. A hazardous smirk was painted on his face, almost matter-of-factly, almost as if he knew his presence was enough to make Minho sick.

He was right.

Minho wasn’t nearly anywhere drunk enough for this kind of confrontation. Even with the beat droning on in the background, and the half-empty glass next to him; no, this was not by any means a figment of his imagination. He dug his heels into the floor underneath, foolishly trying to scoot ever so farther from the fixation of his longest nights.

“…Jisung – “

“No, shhh…. _shhhh_. Shut up. I’m the one fucking talking here.” The sound of his voice made him tense; the last time they spoke Jisung’s voice was laced with equal amounts of venom.

Minho bit down on his lip and tried to muster the courage to look his ex-boyfriend in the eyes.

“You…you…” Jisung chuckled, a dark, bitter laugh that certainly meant to mock Minho. “You don’t belong here. How could you even _think_ to come back here? How fucking _dare_ you…?!” He was pointing fingers now, spitting at Minho as the memories of a year’s past surfaced. “Tonight was _my_ night, do you fucking hear me?”

“Jisung, you’re _drunk_ – “

“No, no, no, shut _up_! You left _me_ – you were all too fucking eager to leave me – so why don’t you up and do it again, instead of coming back to bring everything to complete shit again?! Unless you’re here for seconds? Did you come back to fight again? To make me cry like a complete idiot?”

“Then maybe I should leave,” Minho muttered, tearing his eyes away from the other boy. “I wasn’t planning on seeing you tonight, and I wasn’t planning on getting yelled at by a drunk either.”

“What did you fucking say?! Do you actually want to fight, Lee Minho? Why don’t you fucking swing, huh?!” At this point, Jisung looked like he was on the verge of tears. A sheen of liquid covered his eyes, and his already reddened face was puffy and bloated. He shoved at Minho weakly, failing to topple him and instead tumbling into his chest.

The older boy flinched and inhaled sharply, tightly grasping onto Jisung; in the distance, he could see Chan’s concerned visage, as well as everyone else’s vicious glares. A thick lump formed in Minho’s throat and he struggled to swallow it down. People were starting to stare all around him, and the bartender nodded toward the exit.

“…Come on, let’s go outside.”

The younger boy clutched onto his sweater on their way out of the building. The cool night air was already a welcome change in atmosphere compared to the stuffy heat of the bar.

“Hey, c’mon. Get yourself together, Jisung.” Minho murmured, having brought them to the parking lot and away from the crowd.

“N…no, shut up…! Why do you even _care_? You made it clear that you didn’t!” The words bite, and once again Jisung is shoving at him, punching at his chest with clenched fists. He seemed to have regained his vigor, and a seething pain is reflected in his teary eyes. “Why did you even come back? No one wants you here, Minho, because you’re a piece of shit.”

Jisung continued to yell and scream at him through slurred lips, his fingernails digging into the fabric of his sweater. The lump in Minho’s throat grew larger and larger with each word coming out of Jisung’s pretty little lips. It was constricting him, suffocating him, but he knew he would do something he would regret if he dared cough it up or swallow it down.

“…I think it would be best if you just went home, Jisung. You’re obviously making a fool of yourself.”

“ _You_ think it would be _best_? What?” The younger boy pushed him away and stared at him like he’d just pulled a gun out. “How do you know what’s best for me?! You left _me_ , Lee Minho. You broke my fucking heart and belittled my goals and aspirations. How was _I_ supposed to feel? Was I just going to stand there and take it?”

Jisung was right; his own words were bullets, ricocheting against Jisung’s shield and piercing right through his own chest. The harsh reality of it all was coming back like a knife pressed against his throat. Minho might actually vomit. His chest was pounding, his head was throbbing, his blood was _hot_ –

He missed the taste of Jisung’s lips. Even now, their mouths crushed together, teeth clacking, the taste of whiskey fresh on each of their tongues; it was everything that Minho missed most in his sad, lonely world. He just wanted to Jisung to shut up, to stop talking, because he knew that while his words weren’t sticks and stones, that didn’t make them any less painful.

And the saddest thing, Minho quickly realized, was that Jisung missed this just as much as he did.

His knuckles were white from clutching at the sides of Jisung’s shirt, the pressed material wrinkling through his fists. The younger boy trembled in his hold, just from the way his hands shook as they gripped his hair. The kiss was sloppy and angry, hot and messy, but months of being away from each other ended with things being about as gracious as ripping a bandaid from a fresh wound.

“I – hate - _hate_ ,” Jisung breathed in between them, “you – so _much_ – !” The younger boy’s tears seared through Minho’s own cheeks, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. “I’m going…to make you regret…leaving me.”

Minho finally detached himself for a breath, shutting his eyes instead and keeping him at bay. “…Jisung, you’re still drunk. You need to get home.”

“I’m _not_ going home. Not until I’ve made you realize what you’ve lost.” The younger boy’s eyes were painted with such ire, such that Minho was no longer sure if it was wrath or passion or both. “I’m _not_ going home.”

His nerves surged with electricity. His mind was screaming at him to just suck it up and call Chan over so that they could face the music, but his body… The adrenaline coursing through his veins told him otherwise.

Minho grabbed him by the wrist and, once again for the second time that evening, took their little pity party elsewhere.

* * *

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to bring Jisung back to his apartment, especially when it was quite apparent that the little unit wasn’t the only thing that was in a state of disarray. There was a moment of tense silence when Minho finally unlocked the front door, opening it to complete darkness and that stream of moonlight painting the bare floors and scattered boxes here and there. They didn’t speak to each other on the cab ride over, sitting squarely on either side of the backseat linked only by their hands, tightly woven together and blood pulsing at the veins. That tension was palpable and now, crouched in front of each other in the dim and only seeing the whites of each other’s eyes as they each unlaced their boots, the hunger borne from absence and bitterness needed to be fed.

Within seconds of each of them straightening up off the floor, Jisung crashes into him, sending him tumbling into the nearest wall before resuming their frenzied and feverish kissing. The younger boy’s hands are tight in his hair, almost enough to be painful, but Minho embraces him close, struggling to balance his weight in his slippery socks.

Jisung pulls away for a much-needed breath, dragging one of his hands down the side of Minho’s face. He looks almost feral, Minho thinks, his lips moist and puffy from their messy kisses. The way Jisung breathes, and in such close proximity to him, Minho can feel the hot exhales on his own lips.

“…You’re gonna regret everything,” Jisung whispers, so low, and yet laced with bitterness and poison.

“You’re a fucking animal,” Minho bites back, but the younger boy briefly crushes their lips again right before the end of that last syllable.

“That’s what you always liked, wasn’t it?” Jisung remarks with a dirty glare, before shoving him against the wall and falling to his knees.

Minho’s eyes flutter completely shut and he inhales quick and sharp, knowing exactly where this was headed. He could feel Jisung’s curious hands trail down his torso and stop shortly at the expanse of his thighs. Those curious fingers begin fumbling with his belt, the metal buckle jingling as the younger boy shoves it aside. Jisung tugs at the silver zipper impatiently, without a care as to how expensive those leather pants were.

The older boy sucks air through his teeth as Jisung slips his cock out of its confines, the cold, stale air rapidly enveloping his heated skin. Just as swiftly as the cold touched him did Jisung swallow him down, evoking a choked gasp from Minho.

“… _Ji_ … _Jisung_ …,” Minho breathes out, his voice low and raspy. His fingers come down to curl around the boy’s brown locks, not at all loose but just tight enough to gain some semblance of control.

Minho bites down on his lip hard and looks down to the floor, seeing the younger boy with his face flush against his hips. Jisung gazes at him with lidded eyes, innocuously and almost sadistically, even when his nose was buried in the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. Jisung pulled off with a luscious pop, lips shiny and swollen and a string of saliva connecting him to the tip.

“What? No fight left in you, Minho…?” Jisung smirked up at him before dragging his tongue from the base of his cock all the way to his head.

The older boy growled and tightened his fingers in his hair. “You’re not on your knees to have a conversation.”

“You might finally be onto something.” Jisung punctuated his sentence by swallowing him down again. A loud groan erupted from Minho’s throat as he threw his head back against the wall. Jisung always was pretty talented with that mouth of his, Minho thinks to himself.

Jisung sucks his cock like he’s sating a thirst, alternates with pressing wet kisses along his length, and finally swathes his tongue on the head like he was savoring a lollipop. Minho’s thighs tremble with each ministration, fingers and toes curling tightly, and Jisung’s name is butchered with how much he slurs it in every passing second.

A rapidly growing flame in his stomach is what prompts Minho to pull Jisung off of his cock, holding him by the collar of his shirt, and instead crushing their lips together like they had been all night long. The younger boy coils his arms around his neck like a vice, and Minho lets out a low growl at his initiative. “…Hook your legs up,” he instructs Jisung, and the boy blindly obeys, tangling his ankles behind Minho’s waist as he peppers his jaw with gentle pecks.

His head was spinning and his chest was pounding, but somehow Minho made it to his bedroom without tumbling over in the hallway. Luckily, even for how sparsely decorated the room was, at least the bed was already situated, allowing for Minho to scramble onto the sheets with Jisung in tow. Their hands fly all over each other like drones, landing anywhere that could easily touch skin as if they were completing an electric circuit. In between Jisung pulling him down for yet another bruising kiss, Minho’s deft fingers make quick work of his buttoned shirt, and quickly press up against the hot flesh underneath.

Jisung stares up at Minho beyond his hazy, sex-clouded eyes, and note the way the moonlight paints shadows across his torso, but only after that orange sweater finally hits the floor. He notices the way his eyes glint like they were adorned in tiny diamonds, even if half his face is encased in shadow. Minho relents and leans down for another kiss, just as sloppy as the first and the last. His hands wander and grope the younger’s hips until they’re tugging his jeans all the way down along with his underwear.

His nerves are on fire when the second finger enters him, practiced and familiar as if they hadn’t spent a little over a year away from each other’s presence. Jisung whines and throws his head back into the pillows every time Minho’s purposefully prods that spot with the pad of his fingers. Jisung wants to lean up and kiss that nasty smirk off his face – because he knows Minho is looking at him like that, staring him down like a lion cornering a wounded gazelle. But he can’t do that if the sweat is accumulating on his brow and his hands are both tangled in the sheets and white-knuckled against Minho’s own arm.

The fingers withdraw and Minho’s body weighs down on him. “ _Open up, Jisung_ ,” Minho whispers against his ear, shortly before pressing soft, wet kisses on the skin just below his ear. The spot tingles immediately his lips leave his skin, and he’s left to whine for more. Jisung acquiesces and spread his thighs, just enough for the older boy to situate between his legs. He feels the blunt tip of his cock press at his entrance, and suddenly he’s pushing _inside_ , drawing out a groan from both of them.

“F…fuck… _fuuuuuuuuck_ …!” Jisung pleads to the silence, his hands flying out blindly and reaching for the older boy. “M-Min…!”

The sounds erupting from Minho’s lips are almost animalistic, completely deep and guttural, when he pulls himself out nearly all the way just to push back in. It feels like home, to be tangled with Jisung like this, to have the overconfident boy boast his bravado and then whimpering and slick with sweat underneath him. It almost feels like they hadn’t spent much of the last year wallowing in bitterness on opposite sides of the ocean. Even now, with the tears of ecstasy adorning the corners of Jisung’s eyes, the bruising grip he has on the boy’s tiny waist, and the way Jisung begs for him to go harder… Minho can’t help but feel as though the universe might be playing a sick game on them both.

His hair sticks to his forehead and each one of Minho’s powerful thrusts sends a jolt through his tensed muscles. He’s whimpering and whining, both too shy and too proud to be rattling the room with his full-bodied voice.

“Min…ho…!” Jisung cries with a strangled gasp, just as the older boy pushes deeper into him than ever before.

“Jisung…I’m – Jisung…!”

“Yes…God _fucking_ …yes!” His nerve endings light up like fireworks – it feels _too fucking good_ , he realizes – and suddenly he’s splattering onto his own stomach, knuckles clenched white against the sheets. Minho’s hips buck up into him, filling him with his own release; the older boy slumps over and pulls out of him, before rolling onto his back beside Jisung.

There’s only so much space on the tiny bed but they’re laying there shoulder-to-shoulder, just not in the post-coital glow that normally followed their trysts. In the deafening silence, only the smell of sex hangs, and the weight of their actions drags Minho further into the small mattress. He only hears his soft breathing and sees the dusty ceiling above him. A choked sob catches his attention and he slowly turns to look at his bedmate.

Jisung is laying there, his chest heaving, and his palms pressed into his eyes. His cheeks are shiny with fresh tears, but he’s unsure if he should wipe them away. The sight is pitiful, desperate, and Minho knows Jisung is anything but.

With a gravelly voice, Minho spoke up. “…I’m sorry. I fucked up. I’m sorry.” His voice was more unstable than he realized, and instantly his eyes began stinging at the corners.

“…Why? Why, Minho?” There’s no fight left in his voice, because this was a battle they both lost. This was a voice that was pleading, wanting, begging. “Why leave me, just to come back and fuck with my emotions again? Is there anything left to be said or did you just want to hurt me one last time?”

It was never his intention to break Jisung’s spirit, certainly not like this. Minho let out a frustrated sigh and sat up, before running a hand through his already messy hair.

“…I don’t deserve…any sympathy or forgiveness, from you, or from the other guys, but…I think I should at least let you know what I really feel.” Minho tightly shut his eyes and inhaled sharply, all while silently willing his beating heart to stay still.

“…I was scared. I was so scared to go on that trip and take that opportunity you’d been pushing me to go for _because_ …I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it if you weren’t by my side.” Minho’s voice was small, his body even smaller than it had been as he pulled his knees up to his chest. “I don’t think I could have handled being away from you, and maybe I was right in that regard. Because these last twelve months have been the _loneliest_ I’ve ever felt. I lost all my friends and I lost you because I was too scared to just…just tell you the truth. I’m…I’m so sorry.”

His voice cracked at the last syllable, and before he knew it, the tears had already begun staining his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Jisung. I…I never meant to betray your feelings like that. I never was the best at vocalizing my feelings.”

Minho didn’t notice the other boy sitting up to be beside him until he felt Jisung’s fingers tracing his jaw with such feather-light touches. He turned his face timidly to face Jisung, and the younger boy stared right back at him with those sad, sunken eyes of his.

“…You really screwed this one up, Lee Minho. But I mean…who am I to speak? I thought I was over you all this time, but…” Jisung gently swiped his thumb over Minho’s cheek, and the older boy unabashedly leaned into his touch. A sorrowful, thin smile was forming across the younger boy’s face. “We could have worked it out, y’know? I thought we knew each other much better than this – we called ourselves _soulmates_ …!” A half-hearted laugh escaped the both of them. “Yes…I would have wanted nothing more for you than to pursue your dreams, because that’s what I would have done for myself. I only wish you had told me instead of…making up some lie to try cut us off halfway. And, y’know, expect it to work out.”

The younger boy pulled on his arm and interlocked their fingers as he sidled up next to him. They sat there in comfortable silence before Minho spoke up again.

“I don’t expect you to take me back. I’ve made my peace with that reality. Tonight might just be…the mistake we needed to happen to both of us.”

Jisung sighed and laid his head on Minho’s shoulder. “Even if tonight was a mistake...I can truly tell that I never really stopped loving you.”

“I never stopped loving you, either.”

They both craned their necks to look at each other, before the younger boy closed the distance between them. This kiss was gentle and patient, a far cry from any they had already shared the entire night.

“…We have far too much catching up to do right now. Let’s just pick up the pieces in the morning.”

“I think I’d like that.”

* * *

“…I’m fine, Chan. Slept like a baby, really.”

“ _Are you sure? We were all worried sick after Minho dragged you outside last night. I had to promise Changbin and Hyunjin you were okay since you didn’t answer any of our calls and texts either._ ”

Jisung blushed and rubbed at his arms shyly. “Yeah, yeah, things are fine… Listen, do you want to just meet up later for lunch? I’m still…um…talking things out with Minho. Maybe I’ll bring him along if he wants.”

He could hear Chan’s deep sigh of relief on the other end. “ _Looking forward to it. Tell him I said hi._ ”

“Got it, hyung. See you later.” Jisung pocketed his phone and headed to the living room with a bounce in his step. He couldn’t help but break out into a smile upon seeing him standing in the center of the room, a small box in his arms, and the sunlight casted perfectly on his visage.

Minho returned his smile and marched the short distance between them. “Does Chan want to kick my ass personally or…?”

Jisung chuckled and shook his head. “No, but I told him we’d meet him for lunch later. And he _may_ or may not bring the rest of the guys. They’ll certainly want to kick your ass.”

“Then you might want to help me unpack some of the basic stuff before I receive my death sentence.” Jisung knew he was kidding, but there was a bit of fear mixed in with his humor.

“Lighten up, will you? I can’t guarantee that they’ll be too happy to see you again, but, deep down, we’re all still friends.” Jisung grinned and leaned up to press their lips together.

“…Thank you,” Minho murmured after they pulled away from each other. The older boy took the moment to look him up and down. “You’re lucky I have some stuff that fits you. We can head back to your place later if you want to change.”

Jisung scrunched his nose and shook his head, opting to skip a few steps ahead of him. “Nah…your dance clothes are so comfy. You bulked up a little bit while you were in the States, no? This sweater is just the _right_ amount of oversized and that means you’re never getting this back.”

Minho chuckled and simply followed him into his bedroom.

“I know you said you got tired of being in America and just wanted to come back home to dance here, but…I wanna know about what you did overseas. You’ll tell me, won’t you? Starting with _this_ ,” Jisung commented, walking up to Minho and curling a few of his fingers in his lavender locks.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to hear. No more secrets.”

“Or lies?”

“ _Absolutely_ no more lies.”

Minho notices the way Jisung’s eyes squint and his cheeks fill like balloons when he’s truly at his happiest. And he almost took that away from him forever. There should have been a million reasons for Jisung not to let him back into his life, but he only needed a good one to stick around. Misunderstandings and miscommunication aside, Minho was determined not to let this brand new opportunity slip past him.

Standing here now, face to face and hand in hand with the person he cherished the most, Minho wanted nothing more than to embrace the confidence and love that Jisung gave him since the very beginning. Even if they still needed to pick up the pieces, Minho felt at peace knowing Jisung would be there with him every step of the way.

**Author's Note:**

> you know this fic was a mess when my soundtrack ranged from bishop briggs to selena gomez to taylor swift to taeyeon kjgnkejrngerg thank you for reading this all the way through, and please look forward to more works from me! if you wanna talk (please do, i'm so lonely), you can find me on twt @linopolitan! stay safe everyone, and see you next time <3


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